


The greatest Loss

by Valdyr



Series: The Sinda & the Jotunn [5]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Child Death, Heartbreak, Mind Control, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8066920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valdyr/pseuds/Valdyr
Summary: Loki returns to Mirkwood sick and Thranduil finds out what is wrong with him, with terrible consequences.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A month, wow. So sorry that it took so long. Good news: It won't happen again. Bad news: Uni starts again next week and I'm maintaining more than one story now, so updates will be irregular.

 

The guards of the Woodland Realm were vigil. Their many eyes scanned the North for firedrakes, the West for orcs from Gundabad and other infestations in the Misty Mountains, the South for orcs and spiders from Dol Guldur or even Mordor and the East for all foul folk in general. The mood of the kingdom was grim with concern for their crown prince and queen.

No-one had been happy to see them leave in the first place and the following fortification had not exactly served to calm anyone, either. But all of that could still have been easily explained as precautionary. Their king was very cautious as he loved his people dearly. But all of that had changed the day he had cried out in the middle of an audience, his wedding ring blazing bright.

That had disturbed them all, even their king. And no-one had known how to interpret it until a little bird had come from the sky and sat on their king's shoulder. It had whispered in his ear and then disappeared under his sleeve. He had excused himself then, but they had all seen the fear on his face. When he had returned, he had told them to expect war. Sauron would try to reclaim his Ring and all of Middle-Earth with it.

That had not exactly relaxed anyone's mood. All were tense and extremely alert. And that was also the reason they spotted the dragon coming up from the South so early. But it was just a vague shape in the sky at first. It could have been an eagle or even a flying Nazgûl. But as it came closer they recognised Rhîwthûl's shape and instantly alerted the king to the return of the queen.

He was going through paperwork at that moment, evaluations about how many and which trees they could afford to cut down for more bows and especially arrows without causing permanent damage to the forest. But when the runner said that the queen had been spotted and was returning to the realm, he dropped the parchment in his hand at once. Loki had announced to return only after the One Ring was destroyed. And they would have noticed an event of such impact. It hadn't happened. But Loki was returning anyway. Something had to be terribly, horribly wrong.

 

 

And it was. He had rushed up to see Loki and found the dragon more gliding than flying and quickly losing height. But he was quick, already over the trees and coming ever closer, even as he was rapidly sinking. And the closer he came, the more the elves felt like he was not slowing for a landing. He was coming right at them without slowing down. Was this an attack? But the dragon's head was dipping, hanging as if too heavy to lift. This was no attack, it was crash in the making.

And upon that realisation, Thranduil shouted out, but Loki didn't hear it. And he was coming right at them at full speed. He was going to crush them, dozens of trees and all walls in his path with them! They had to stop him and on instinct Thranduil connected with his own magic and shouted at Loki to stop again. The dragon jolted and ripped his head back, his eyes opening wide in shock as if he had just woken up from a dream.

Then he beat his wings against the air-steam and almost stopped mid-air. But he was still drastically slowed and needed to grip for the trees to not drop from the air like a stone. He was too heavy for any tree to hold him, though, and they could see him start to change, shrinking down to elven size. After Thranduil they ran out to help the falling queen, whose transforming wings were no longer capable of carrying her. She fell through the canopy without any visible attempts to grip at them and catch her fall, but they did it for her, catching her before her body hit the ground.

The moment after they had caught her, they were proud and happy. But at Thranduil's choked whisper of “My love?” they really looked to her and found their queen completely unconscious and ghastly pale. At once they carried her to the healers. But it was not done with that. The healers unveiled a shocking set of burns across the queen's chest and belly, but after getting over the initial shock had to admit that these wounds were well on the way to healing, a mere shadow of what they must once have been.

And what they must once have been! What could do such a thing? A dragon at least, the healers said, but this was not responsible for Loki's state, they said as well. So they checked Loki for more wounds, but found no others. Loki in a terrible state, fainted and feverish. They would have expected a festering wound, but found no puss, not even an open or inflamed wound to begin with. Nothing. Loki should be alright. But he wasn't, so there had to be something that they just didn't see.

It had to be internal. But even then, Loki's body should have healed itself. It had healed the burns. No wound on or in Loki's body would defy his healing magic. Not even poison prevailed against it! Poison, he thought. What if Loki was poisoned? His magic should have destroyed any poison and repaired the damage. But apparently, it couldn't. ...Why? Perhaps if the source of the poison was still inside him and keeping the poisoning up. But nothing they could think of would be able to keep producing poison once inside the victim.

So why did his magic not do its work? What kept it from healing him? A curse? Maybe, considering the strong connection between Loki's magic and matter, this all could be caused by a curse. Foul magic that affected his body and healing. It was a possibility. So maybe they should get a wizard, like Radagast, for help, the stumped healers suggested. They knew too little of active magic to act. But the same could not be said for Thranduil. Not anymore.

Determined he told them to step back and sat at Loki's side, turned to face his still body. He took one of Loki's hands into his own and remembered the feeling. He dove into into that strange and unknown sense Loki had shown to him and his vision changed. Now he could see magic. He looked to Loki's face and saw the green veil over a blue core. He saw the cornucopia in his brain. But he also saw thin veins of dark red. Those shouldn't be there. He traced them down through Loki's neck and to his chest.

Only there he noticed the far faded veins beside the red ones, originating in the healing wounds. So those had been magical, too. But Loki's own magic had dealt with that. He followed the red veins, his people avidly watching his actions, even though they saw nothing of what he was seeing. But they saw something he didn't. They saw his face. His frown as he looked through Loki for something imperceptible, the tilt of his neck as he looked ever further down. And then the shock as he lost the ability to breathe.

He just didn't remember how breathing worked again in that one terrible moment. The moment he saw what was wrong with Loki. No millennia of training could school his features now. He just stared in shocked disbelief as he racked his brains for another explanation. A way out against all reason. But he saw it right in front of him. Vaguely he remembered the bright bubble of protective magic he had seen so long ago and Loki's explanation that it protected his offspring. He saw that bubble now, too. But it was no bright web of interwoven beams of magic anymore.

It was a flabby gathering of dim tatters. The bubble was burst. And dark red coiled through the ruins like toxic weed. The shield was shattered. And who had once been protected now exuded foulness and tainted magic. Whatever had attacked Loki, it had broken every magic ward and it had killed their baby inside. Their innocent little baby. His vision faltered and he pulled back as his body trembled. The healer neared with caution and hesitantly asked what he had found. But his throat was all closed up. He would have found the words anyway.

What should he say? My baby is dead and its decay poisons my wife? It was true, but he doubted that he would ever be able to say that. They couldn't know, but in his mind he had just lost a child. Rationally, he knew that it had to be dead for a while to impact Loki like that. But his rational mind was not in charge. All his mind was controlled by the blinding pain of a single thought. 'My rotting unborn baby's corpse is killing my wife from the inside.”

Because that was, what was happening. Loki was fading away. His magic could not fight his own child. But it poisoned him more securely than any orc arrow could. And ever more poison was produced as the dead body inside him continued to decay. He was losing Loki. And with that, his fear overpowered his pain. The child was lost, but Loki could still be saved. If the corpse disappeared. The corpse of their baby inside him. Everything in him rebelled against what reason demanded of him. But if he couldn't do it, both would be lost to him.

So with a breaking voice he gave the command that was inescapable to saving Loki's life. Even though he knew that it could cost him Loki's heart. No mother should have to go through this. But he had to.

“C-Cut it out.”

“You grace?!”

“The foetus. It's dead and rotting. And that is poisoning him. Cut that fouling body out and save Loki's life, or you will follow him into the grave!”

He knew he was harsh, but it was the pain speaking, and he left. He didn't literally run. But it was a close thing. He didn't want the realm to suffer any more because of a false interpretation, if their king was seen crying so shortly after the queen's return. So he hurried to disappear into his chambers and there he desperately tried not to imagine what was happening with Loki in that moment. But he couldn't escape the images in his head and only just managed to muffle his desperate screams.

No-one should live to lose their child. And no-one should ever have to make such a decision.

 

 

The first he saw was the ceiling. By the images carved into it, the ceiling of the royal chambers of the Woodland Realm. He had made it? He was surprised. And he felt cottony. It felt good in the way that told you that it was not good. Like when you knew you were wounded and it didn't hurt because the nerves were severed. That's what he felt like. On instinct he put one hand on his belly. It wasn't rounded yet, but the impulse was there already.

He did feel something, though. Like a ridge. He felt like throwing up until the end of time when he saw what that ridge was. When he saw the stitches and realised what they meant for him. That was when Thranduil noticed that he was awake and walked over to him. To explain. And to ask what had done that to him. He couldn't say it. He couldn't speak out loud that he had lost their child to exactly the creature that Thranduil had warned him about.

He didn't want to speak at all. He wanted to be alone in his misery and he was compelled to shout at Thranduil to leave him alone. He just wanted to be alone.

But Thranduil didn't. He couldn't let Loki out of his sight now and Loki knew that. Deep inside he knew that Thranduil had not just lost a child as he had. Thranduil had almost lost him, too. And as much as he wanted to be alone, Thranduil needed the reassurance that he was still there. Still alive. He needed Loki close. So, even though to Loki Thranduil was a horrid reminder of his loss right then, he opened his arms in invitation. He didn't know how he could do that. Thranduil's touch almost physically hurt him. But he had to.

Deep inside he wanted nothing more than to run away. But the mere thought was punished by a far more dominant force in his mind. Guilt so heavy he would have felt free and light with just Mjolnir on his chest. Guilt that told him that he did this to Thranduil. That it was all his fault and he owed Thranduil everything to make up for it. Guilt that told him that he had been warned and gone there anyway. Guilt that told him that he should have known before he gave Thranduil a false hope.

He should have known that winter bore nothing but death.

And so he accepted every advance and gave Thranduil every comfort he needed. And he dutifully answered all his questions about the afterlife. From all he knew of Mandos, it was likely similar to Valhalla. All dead were drawn to Helheim. But some were picked up by stronger forces and carried somewhere else. Half-elven their child might have been taken there. But if Hel saw its death, she might have sent spirits of her own to bring it back to her.

Loki didn't want to know. Not really. He wanted to bury that there ever was anything. He wanted to pretend. It would hurt less. But he knew that Thranduil wanted to know, because he found no rest otherwise. So he accepted that they should contact her and let Thranduil take him to the shrine. He begged her for consolation and the oil caught on fire. But then the flame changed. She made an effort. The flame grew into a figure and spoke with charred, hissing voice:

"I saw. And yes. I sent for my sibling. The dead don't grow. It will never speak. Never walk. It is tiny. But it is a babe.”

“What will happen with it?”

“Most babes who come here are eaten within hours. But I took care. And don't say 'it', please.”

“I know not what else to say instead.”

“Her. You made a girl.”

“An infant eternal. What a fate. What did I do?”

“You have gifted me, father. The dragons fly, wild and free, through all the skies of my world. They are young, but hardly childish anymore. Daudr will remain my little girl forever. Don't worry, fadir.”

The flame burnt out quickly, all resources used up. A bittersweet farewell for Loki. He wished Hel the best. He really did. But still he broke down inside. He would never raise a child, would he? He had ten children now, sort of. But none for him. That was clearly not meant for him. Seeing his distress shine through his eyes, Thranduil tried to give him comfort. But he didn't want to be comforted. He would fight for Thranduil and Legolas and the destruction of the Ring. But after that, he had to go. To spare them the greater pain that comes from futile hopes.

He thought that for a moment. But then his mind revolted. It shouted at him that he couldn't flee from his duty. He had given Thranduil his hand, had taken his heart and he owed him. He had to make up for the pain he had caused in any way possible. Forever.

But even then, he did not find that force in his mind that his pain-clouded vision failed to recognise as foreign.

Because in his weakness, Rhîwya had taken hold of his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Daudr means death. So I deemed it fitting and funnily reminiscent of daughter. But, yeah. They might not know it yet, but Odin's slave spell has just taken control. Loki can still fight it, but he'd have to know that there is something to fight first...


End file.
